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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24890359">night and day</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>tell me true, my heart is blue [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Portrait de la jeune fille en feu | Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Photographer, Angst, F/F, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:15:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,309</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24890359</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There was no longer anger and resentment, there wasn’t stress and angst. It was just melancholy. Filled with regret. It was grief and it was mourning. It was a fear for what was to come, what was to be lost, and the knowledge that whatever they had together would be thoroughly tainted and maybe even destroyed.</p><p>or, héloïse is moving to milan with her mother, and neither héloïse or marianne know what that means for them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Héloïse &amp; Marianne (Portrait of a Lady on Fire), Héloïse/Marianne (Portrait of a Lady on Fire)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>tell me true, my heart is blue [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783507</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>130</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>night and day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hellooooo. long time no chat. i've sure been hit with life like a set of bricks, so i'm sorry i haven't posted recently. i've been quite depressed and writing for my other work just wasn't possible because it was so far removed from how i was feeling.</p><p>so, here's this. i hope you enjoy. let me know what you think! as always, find me at poetschoice.tumblr.com</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The last week that Héloïse spent in Paris weighed heavily on the two women.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The weeks leading up to it were hard, too. In those last few weeks they had together, they fought more often than they ever did in the almost year that they had been together. They talked on the phone, late into the night, on the odd occasion that they didn’t share a bed. Marianne stopped seeing her friends. She called in sick to work. She ignored most of her obligations. Héloïse ignored the ringing of her phone when her mother called, she quit her job earlier than she needed to, and she took days to text her friends back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They laid in Marianne’s bed, naked and quiet, attempting to pretend nothing was different. But the sorrow and restlessness was so present and intrusive, that neither could ignore it. It interrupted kisses, whispered words, and for the first time since Héloïse had met Marianne, it stopped her from being fixated on taking photographs. For the first time, when Héloïse asked to be taken to bed upon her arrival, Marianne obliged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smiles were rare. Even in moments that weren’t explicitly saddening, the women didn’t smile. They didn’t make jokes, they didn’t smile when they first saw each other, each day, and they didn’t laugh when they drunkenly fumbled about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alcohol led to tears. Endless streams of tears that couldn’t be ceased. Héloïse was always the first to cry, Marianne would say something mundane, something that probably shouldn’t have led to tears, but it would push Héloïse over the edge. She would start out angry, being annoyed by what Marianne said or frustrated at the way she framed her sentences, but as they bickered and tears began to fall, it became softer and sad. Anger fled and in its place was despair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse would cry until she couldn’t, she would barely make words, she would just cling to Marianne and soak whatever shirt the brunette was wearing, with her tears. Marianne would hold her, she would squeeze her close and whisper to her that things were alright, even though Marianne could barely believe that herself. Most days, Marianne ended up crying with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time, Marianne accepted the invitation to have dinner with Héloïse and her mother. She hadn’t been invited often, but she always managed to have an excuse when she was. Héloïse knew that Marianne just felt uncomfortable around Héloïse’s mother, that she felt uncomfortable around Héloïse’s life outside of her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne was intimidated by the big houses, tall fences, fancy cars, and intense manners. But she knew that it meant something to Héloïse, to have Marianne be there for one of her final nights in Paris, to sit at her family’s dinner table, and talk to her mother. And though Marianne didn’t tell her, Héloïse knew that Marianne cared enough about her to do it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Tuesday evening, three days before Héloïse and her mother were meant to be on a flight to Milan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse was sitting across the table from her mother, much like she did most of her life, since the passing of her father and sister. It was just past seven, though Marianne had yet to arrive. Héloïse had told her mother that the brunette would be late, that there was such a slim chance that she would be on time that there was no need to be sat at the table for seven. However, her mother was as insistent as ever, she desired things to be as they were and as she wanted, which meant that seven o’clock was dinner time. It also meant that dinner would not actually begin until all parties arrived, which made the situation uncomfortable for Héloïse and she dreaded the moment that Marianne arrived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse and her mother sat in a long silence. They hadn’t been speaking much, these final weeks. Héloïse spent most of her time with Marianne and would come home late at night, way past the time that her mother had gone to bed. When they did talk, her mother tried to reassure her that Milan would be beautiful. It would be fun. It would be refreshing and new and something that both Héloïse and herself needed. The blonde, however, could only cast those attributes to Marianne.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse watched her lap as her mother watched her. She didn’t want to look up at her mother, didn’t want to give her a chance to comment on Marianne’s tardiness, to ask her if she’s finished packing, or to say much of anything. She felt tense and frustrated and just wanted to sit in silence until Marianne arrived. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, when the doorbell rang, Héloïse launched out of her seat, banging her thigh on the edge of the table, as she rushed towards the dining room door. Her mother was startled by the noise that she caused, as all the cutlery and dishes on the table made clattering noises. She mumbled an apology to her mother for the noise and that she would get the door, that it must be Marianne. She quickly made her way through the hallway like a child running towards the tree on Christmas morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reached the front door and swung it open, her heart pounding rapidly at the sight of Marianne looking endearingly awkward. The woman was visibly nervous, she had a small layer of sweat beading at her forehead and she rubbed the back of her neck, with her spare hand. Her tardiness was likely not helping the situation, but Héloïse couldn’t care less about it. Marianne could have been three hours late and it would make no difference in that moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne stood in front of her in a pair of black slacks and a long sleeved white button up that was slightly wrinkled. She wore a brown belt and a pair of black loafers. Héloïse wanted to laugh, because she knew it would bother her mother. That it would give her another reason to complain about Marianne, to say that Héloïse should pursue someone more presentable, someone who would steam their shirt before going out, someone who knew that you can’t wear black shoes with a brown belt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The brunette held a bouquet of white flowers— roses and lilies and other foliage. Héloïse clung to the door, her body pressed against it like a nervous teenager, and she reached her arm out to Marianne, as if to ask her to enter. Marianne took her hand and Héloïse removed herself from the door and replaced it with Marianne, by pulling her close to her body, careful not to squish the flowers. She only pulled away enough to kiss her cheek and then her lips, before resting her head back into the nook of her neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they parted, she pulled Marianne inside and kissed her once more, hushing her apologies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care that you’re late, I care that you’re here.” Héloïse told her, though they both knew that Marianne’s apologies were for much more than just her tardiness.</span>
</p><p> <span>She ushered her through the hallway and towards the dining area that her mother remained in. She had her arm linked through Marianne’s as they walked, and Héloïse reassured her that all was well, the closer they got to the dining room.</span></p><p>
  <span>When they did arrive, Héloïse released Marianne’s arm, and once the two entered the room, her mother stood and turned her gaze to Marianne, completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry I’m late, madame.” She mumbled, but quickly continued. “These are for you.” She said as she offered the bouquet forward, to the older woman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took the flowers from Marianne, seemed to examine them along with Marianne herself and smiled, softly. Though Héloïse would never tell Marianne, both because Marianne wouldn’t believe her and because she liked to see her sweat, her mother did like Marianne quite a bit. She liked the joy that she brought Héloïse, liked that she was a mostly respectful woman, and liked that she was brave enough to attempt risky jokes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Héloïse,” her mother said. “Go put these in some water, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde only nodded. She took the flowers from her mother and shot Marianne a quick, tight smile. A smile that only existed as a poor attempt at comfort or reassurance. To tell Marianne that she would be fine, but also to wish her luck. She felt bad, leaving Marianne to fend for herself, but she knew that Marianne deserved a bit of interrogation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse left the room and went towards the kitchen, in search of a vase. She took her time deciding which vase would be best suited for the flowers. She ended up picking a clear, glass vase, though she thought her mother might like the flowers in the blue, chinoiserie, more. The blonde took her time filling the vase and trimming the stems of the flowers, taking care to sort the bouquet beautifully. She knew that Marianne would be annoyed but impressed, and that her mother would appreciate it deeply. So, she continued her slow, precise work and allowed Marianne to be left to speak with her mother, letting her mother to harass Marianne in whatever way she would like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was still mildly upset with Marianne. Her feelings were complex. Where she was excited and adored Marianne in one moment, she was quick to remember her annoyance and anger, her frustration and heartbreak. She tried to forget their fights, after they happened, but it was getting harder and harder and the fights were getting more and more frequent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last time she saw Marianne, they had ended up getting into a petty fight about where they should go for dinner. It didn’t take long for a petty fight about ordering take-away or going to a nice restaurant turned into subtle remarks about the other’s inability to make a choice, inability to voice their wants, fighting about how passive aggressive one another would become. It ended with Marianne saying that the stress of moving was turning Héloïse into a bitch, to which the blonde shook her head, muttered a few profanities, and stormed out of Marianne’s flat. She ignored the woman’s calls after her, the apologies that she yelled, and when Héloïse got home, she ignored every phone call and text message from the brunette. Instead, she opened a bottle of wine, turned on a movie she didn’t care to watch, and she tried to forget about everything. When an emotional scene came on, in the film, she pretended that it had an impact on her, and she let her tears fall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Héloïse finished with the flowers, she left them on the counter she was working on, as she figured that her mother could decide where she wanted them. The blonde made her way back down the hallway, towards the dining area. And as she went, she could slowly start to hear pieces of sentences and random words, and she tried to listen in to as much as possible. She isn’t able to piece together what they’re talking about, though, just the different inflections and awkward lulls in conversation. She can hear Marianne stutter before speaking, fumbling with words, and utterly flustered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Héloïse re-enters the room, Marianne turns to see her and there’s a sense of visible relief on her face. A small piece of Héloïse wishes she took a little longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I left the flowers in the kitchen, maman.” Héloïse said as she walked into the room and towards her seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should have brought them out here, they’d look lovely with dinner.” Her mother said, though there was a tone of indifference in her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can go get them, bring them back out.” Héloïse offered, turning slightly, so as to not be facing her seat quite yet. But her mother quickly hushed her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no. Sit, let’s eat. The food will be getting cold, already.” Her mother told her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you that you shouldn’t have served it, yet.” Héloïse said, as she sat down, not wanting to let her mother’s passive aggression go by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Héloïse.” Was all her mother said, firmly, and it reminded the woman of all the times in her youth that her mother wanted so badly to tell her to be silent, to warn her that she would be in endless amounts of trouble if she wasn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse could only roll her eyes and look towards Marianne, who had a small smile on her face. Marianne would always laugh as she listened to Héloïse bicker with her mother on the phone or as Héloïse would rant about some argument the two had gotten into.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde tried to refrain from smiling back, but she couldn’t hold back the tiny smile that graced her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse’s mother served each plate, something that she only did when guests were over. Héloïse always hoped that she would never end up like her mother, with the need to impress guests at every turn. She believed that she did a good job at resisting that, though— her resentment of it was far too strong in her childhood and it never left her as she became a teen and later, a woman. Héloïse knew she would have made a horrible house-wife to one of the boys who once wanted to marry her. And she was incredibly proud of that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once the food had been served, Héloïse’s mother insisted on saying grace, another thing she only did when guests were around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maman, we don’t need to say grace. We never say it, Marianne doesn’t care to say it.” Héloïse pleaded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That only gained Héloïse another warning look, one that told her to keep her silence, to stop embarrassing her mother. Héloïse let her shoulders drop and rolled her eyes again, letting out a sigh as she looked towards Marianne, who seemed to be entertained by the situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, I’d like it if we said grace.” Marianne said, as she looked at Héloïse, clearly antagonizing the woman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See, Héloïse,” her mother said, perking up at Marianne’s words. “You’ve got to be more polite.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Héloïse’s mother spoke, the blonde watched Marianne suppress a laugh, and she kicked the woman’s ankle, which only made the brunette smile more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse hadn’t seen such a light smile from Marianne in a while. She missed it, the way that her lips would curl up and as her joy continued to build, her teeth would become visible and her smile turned to laughter. She wanted to capture those moments forever, and it was only in those moments that Héloïse understood Marianne’s fascination with taking photographs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne and Héloïse just watched each other as Héloïse’s mother shut her eyes and began to recite a prayer, Marianne continued to hold her smile, as if a peace offering, and eventually Héloïse gave in and smiled back. Marianne reached her hand towards Héloïse, across the table, who gladly took it, and Marianne softly squeezed her hand. As Héloïse’s mother continued, Marianne mouthed something to Héloïse.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I missed you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse just smiled and ducked her head, almost to tell Marianne that she was forgiven, that Héloïse couldn’t stay mad any longer, that she deeply missed Marianne, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Héloïse’s mother finished saying grace, Héloïse squeezed Marianne’s hand and let it go, quietly whispering an “amen.” Marianne muttered out a clumsy “amen,” as well, as she pulled her hand back towards her body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all began to eat and a silence filled the room. Héloïse didn’t have much to say and she was worried about her words, where she might lead the conversation, if she did speak. She knew that Marianne was going to be quiet, that she would happily sit in complete silence, eat her dinner, and leave without another word to her mother. It was her mother that surprised Héloïse. The blonde expected her to interrogate Marianne all throughout the evening. She thought she would ask her about work and her personal life and all the details of her and Héloïse’s relationship, which was as rocky as it had ever been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were clinks of forks touching plates, the sound of wine glasses being placed back on the table, and the creaking of chairs whenever someone would shift in their spot. Eventually, Héloïse’s mother broke the silence, like she always did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Marianne,” she started and Héloïse watched the brunette visibly tense. “How has your work been going? You’re a photographer, correct?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, madame. It’s going well, but I haven’t been working much these past weeks. Most of my time has been spent with Héloïse.” Marianne said, earnestly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse’s mother nodded as Marianne spoke. “Yes, I’ve noticed. Héloïse has barely been around to pack.” The older woman said. “What sort of photography do you do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse winced at the question and hoped that Marianne wouldn’t answer in her typical bluntness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All sorts of it. Fashion, events, real estate. Whatever I’ve been hired for. I tried landscape for a while, but I was never very fond of it. I mostly do portraiture. I find that to be the most interesting, it’s the most captivating.” Marianne told her between bites of food. “Héloïse models for me, sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She does?” Héloïse’s mother asked with slight shock in her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, she’s the best model I have. The only one that’s more than just a pretty face.” And as Marianne said that, she turned her gaze to Héloïse, as if she was speaking to only her. And then she turned back to Héloïse’s mother and spoke once more, this time implying her exclusion of Héloïse from the conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She is the most beautiful model I’ve worked with, though. She’s truly breathtaking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde couldn’t help but blush and face her plate in a poor attempt to hide her face. She reached under the table, though, towards Marianne, and tapped upon her leg until the brunette slipped her hand into Héloïse’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She has grown into a beautiful woman, hasn’t she?” Héloïse’s mother remarked, as if Marianne would be able to accurately agree, as if Marianne had been in Héloïse’s life for much longer than she actually had been. But Marianne agreed, regardless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed as though Marianne had grown tired of the praise she gave Héloïse, though, and that she wanted to bring more stress upon the blonde. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I actually do a lot of nude photography, as well.” She stated simply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse’s mother choked and the blonde quickly pulled her hand from Marianne’s and slapped the brunette’s hand in response. If looks could kill, Marianne would have been dead in an instant and Héloïse would be in handcuffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The older woman looked back and forth between the two younger women with confusion and disappointment. It was clear that she didn’t know what to say. Héloïse didn’t know how to remedy the conversation, how to alter what Marianne had said into something that wouldn’t seem utterly disappointing to her mother, but she could come up with nothing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s artistic,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t seem like a good explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a very interesting type of photography, it’s almost like an extended version of portraiture and fashion photography all at once. To show a person fully and truly. I think it’s the most honest way you can see someone.” Marianne said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse’s mother just slowly nodded, not saying a single word. Héloïse felt mortified, she just hoped that Marianne wouldn’t speak any more and that her mother wouldn’t ask any questions. The last thing that she could want in the world is for her mother to know that Marianne has taken hundreds, if not thousands of photos of Héloïse’s naked body. That most of the nights she had gone to Marianne’s house, she ended up naked and in front of a camera. That Marianne had drawings and paintings and photographs of Héloïse. Ones where her breasts were exposed, ones where she stood completely naked, ones where she fondled herself, ones where she was nude and bent over. Drawings of Héloïse laid upon Marianne’s bed, paintings of Héloïse spread open, photographs of Héloïse with hunger in her eyes and photos of Héloïse after sex. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maman,” Héloïse interrupted, wanting to turn the conversation down a different path before her mother could ask any questions. “How was your book club?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mother seemed to be slightly thankful for the change in conversation, as well, and smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very good. Though it was hardly what it normally is, we mostly just chatted.” She said. Héloïse wanted to say that that’s what it’s always like, that calling it a book club is just an excuse to spend time away from their husbands, but she didn’t bother. “Corinne brought over a lovely bottle of wine, actually, as a parting gift. Oh, Jeanne brought you a gift, as well. It’s up in your bedroom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you told her thank you, for me.” Héloïse responded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I did. I hope you’ll call her, though, once you’ve seen it. I told her that you likely won’t get a chance to until we’re settled in Milan, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse watched Marianne tense at the mention of Milan. Every time that Héloïse had mentioned it, in the past few weeks, Marianne seemed to shut down. She would get quiet and tense and unresponsive. She would quickly redirect the conversation to something different and when that failed, she would tell Héloïse she didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to discuss Héloïse leaving, moving nearly a thousand kilometres away. It was the only thing that Héloïse wanted to discuss, though. She wanted to know what it meant for the two of them, and not knowing only three days before she left stressed her out endlessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll try to remember.” Héloïse said quietly, and reached for Marianne’s hand again. Marianne moved her hand back to the table, though. The brunette stared at her plate as she pushed her food around, like a child who didn’t want to eat anymore, but was stuck at the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you come to visit, sometime?” Héloïse’s mother asked, looking towards Marianne. But the photographer was completely zoned out of the conversation, lost in whatever thoughts were floating through her head. Héloïse tapped Marianne’s thigh, but still, she didn’t look up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marianne?” The older woman called, louder this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brunette was startled out of whatever state she was in and looked back up towards Héloïse’s mother with raised eyebrows, asking for whatever question to be repeated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you come to Milan, sometime, Marianne?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Marianne seemed to ponder the question for a moment. With each second that passed, Héloïse’s heart broke a little more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure. I might. I’ve had work in Milan before, I might again.” Marianne said, not looking at Héloïse. “If I do, I’ll be sure to let you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tense silence floated amongst the women. It was like Héloïse’s mother could tell that this was a point of contention between the pair, that she just brought up something that she likely shouldn’t have. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well.” The older woman said quietly, not wanting to push any further. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse slowly pulled her hand away from Marianne’s thigh, and moved it to grab her wine glass. She pretended that the large sip was a choice that wasn’t impacted by the current conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence filled the room, the air was tense and awkward, and no one looked at each other. Each woman picked away at their meal, occasionally reaching for more wine or roasted meat. Héloïse reached for the wine more often than anyone else and she ignored her mother’s warning looks. She was starting to wonder why she thought inviting Marianne for dinner was a good idea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had wanted it to be a lovely night, she wanted it to be a nice night with the woman she loved, wanted to let Marianne seep into her existence. Héloïse knew that Marianne didn’t enjoy spending time at Héloïse’s home and with her mother. She didn’t like admitting it, but she once drunkenly told Héloïse that her mother scared her. That she worried the woman wouldn’t approve of her career and her life and their relationship. And Héloïse couldn’t say much about that, other than that she didn’t care if her mother approved of Marianne or not. She knew that Marianne wasn’t everything that her mother had hoped for in a partner, for Héloïse. That she would have prefered someone she knew, someone from their social circle. Someone with more money, who didn’t spend time in dirty bars, who didn’t smoke so constantly, someone who worked a more stable career.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t matter if Héloïse said that her mother’s opinion wasn’t important to her. It mattered to Marianne that her mother didn’t completely and unconditionally approve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When everyone had seemed to finish eating their dinner, Héloïse’s mother broke the silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would anyone like dessert?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse looked to Marianne and so did her mother. The blondes rarely ever shared dessert, it was something that was saved for special occasions and guests. Her mother was a wonderful baker, but she was impatient and as she grew older, she grew less fond of the craft. When Héloïse was young, they had desserts each night, madeleines and tarts and pâte à choux. Her mother adored the reactions that she received from Héloïse and her sister when she would surprise the girls with whatever she had made, that day. Now, it was just her and Héloïse and neither woman cared enough for sugary treats each day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, please, that would be lovely.” Marianne said quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse rushed to her feet, with a speed that startled both the other women. “I can go get it.” She offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne and her mother watched her for a second, but her mother quickly denied her offer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, sit. I’ll do it.” Her mother said while motioning with her hand for Héloïse to sit back down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Héloïse only sighed and sat down again, knowing that there was no use fighting her mother on this. She watched her mother slowly rise, collect each of their dinner plates, and leave the room and she let out a sigh. It took her a moment before she was able to turn to Marianne, but when she finally did, hazel eyes were already locked on her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look beautiful.” Marianne offered. It was a bandaid on a bullet wound, at that point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse just shook her head. “Couldn’t you have just said you’d visit, even if you didn’t mean it? Make her think that this,” and she motioned between the two of them. “Wasn’t as much of a nightmare as it actually is?” Her voice was more defeated than it was angry, she was worn down by the constant and unrelenting failure of consistency with their love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne let out a small sigh before she spoke. “I didn’t want to promise I’d visit when I don’t know if I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse huffed at Marianne’s words, clearly annoyed but trying her hardest not to get too upset when she knew her mother was just down the hallway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t know if you can or don’t know if you want to?” She said, her voice becoming malicious. “You can say that you don’t think I’m worth the travel time, worth the waiting, whatever it is, you already told my mother that. Just be blunt about it, now, you might as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Héloïse, you know it isn’t that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s exactly what it is, though. You don’t like the distance and the waiting and you don’t think I’m worth it.” She spat out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t.” Marianne warned her, her sorrow subsiding and frustration becoming present.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it, then?” Héloïse asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I want to come.” Marianne told her, but wasn’t quite able to meet her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why won’t you say you’ll come? I’m not asking you to move, just to visit. Even for a couple days.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know that I don’t like to promise something if I’m not certain it’ll happen.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you love me enough to make it happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But before Marianne could say anything in response, Héloïse’s mother re-entered the room, a strawberry tart in hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne rubbed the bridge of her nose before forcing a slight smile. Héloïse didn’t bother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mother tried to be cheery, a brighter smile on her face, as if she were trying to counteract the tension between Marianne and Héloïse. As if strawberries and custard could mend Héloïse’s breaking heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She cut slices of the tart and served them out, first to Marianne, then Héloïse, then herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne was the first to eat, as if only to be polite, and she complimented the older woman on her baking skills. Héloïse just pushed the strawberries about, eventually bringing one to her mouth. Even the little bit of custard clinging to the berry couldn’t balance out the bitterness that Héloïse tasted in her mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt queasy, the moment that she put the strawberry in her mouth, and she wished she had never done it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mother started to speak about the house in Milan, telling Marianne that it had been in her family for decades, that she had been meaning to move there for years but the time was never right. Héloïse wanted to remark that this time wasn’t right either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne told her mother that she hadn’t been to Milan in a few years, that she used to visit, often, with her father. Marianne told her that her father was the one to introduce her to photography, that he introduced her to as many forms of art as possible. She talked about what it was like to grow up in an art studio, that her childhood memories were laced with the smell of paint. Marianne talked about how it was just her and her father and that he was her best friend, growing up. How he bought her her first camera when she was eight and how she has never looked back. She told Héloïse’s mother that he wanted her to pursue any type of art, as long as she didn’t become a tattoo artist. Héloïse’s mother seemed to approve of that part.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He sounds like a lovely man.” Her mother told Marianne, when the brunette ran out of things to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is. I’m sure he’d love to meet you, if you’re ever back in Paris.” Marianne told her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That surprised Héloïse. She had heard Marianne speak of her father often, talk about stories from her childhood, tell Héloïse that she loved her father endlessly. But Héloïse had never met Marianne’s father. She had listened to phone calls between the two, she knew that Marianne’s father knew of her, that he wanted to meet her, but Marianne kept the two separate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, we will, someday, I’m sure. We aren’t selling the house here, Héloïse insists that she wants to stay in Paris, though I’m sure Milan will change that. And her father would want her to keep the house in the family. It’s almost like this is turning to a vacation home, of sorts, for now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What decided the move? Héloïse never really said.” Marianne asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse considered interjecting, considered saying that she never said because Marianne never gave her a moment to discuss it, but as her mother looked at her with soft and curious eyes, she decided not to. She just looked back down to her plate and shoved another berry into her mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The house has been sitting empty, since my brother had died. And it’s been years since I’ve been to Milan, I miss it, I’ve been wanting to go back. I decided that now would be as good as any time to go. And Héloïse said she would come.” Her mother said, as if she had explained her reasoning a hundred times, like she was confident in it and sure that it is the best choice she could make.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did Héloïse agree to go?” Marianne asked, as if Héloïse wasn’t sitting next to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annoyed by the conversation and uncomfortable with the air in the room, Héloïse rejoined the conversation, right after she finished her glass of wine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t want to be alone.” She said, firmly, looking directly at Marianne, now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watched Marianne’s jaw tighten and she nodded, but said nothing. Héloïse’s mother watched in silence and the room went back to being filled with an uncomfortable tension.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was true that Héloïse would still have her friends, she would have her job, she would have Marianne. But without her mother, she would feel utterly alone. She would spend most nights of the week sleeping in a big, empty home. She would eat dinner by herself, she would spend her days off locked away in her room and wishing she was working, and she would just have to hope that Marianne would come spend the weekend at her home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t want that. She liked the comfort of her mother’s presence, even if they rarely agreed upon things and they fought often. She liked sitting at the dinner table with her mother and listening to the older woman rant about something that seemed unimportant. She liked having her mother there when she needed to cry, she liked not having to cook every night, she liked to know that if no one else was around, her mother would be there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the deaths of her father and her sister, Héloïse drew herself closer to her mother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, she drew herself farther away. She was consumed by her anger at the world and couldn’t stand to be around her mother, who preferred to bask in her sadness. Héloïse was flames of rage while her mother was waves of sorrow. But slowly, as each woman returned to “normal” or the closest thing to it, they began to depend on each other. Spending time watching movies or discussing books. Héloïse’s mother’s disappointment in her daughter’s choices faded, she stopped thinking about the life she dreamed of for Héloïse, the one that consisted of marrying a man from their social circle, becoming a housewife, having beautiful children who brought pride and joy to the family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mother started to find joy in the life that Héloïse set forth for herself. Working a small job in a dingy bookstore, likely to never marry but instead settle with a random woman from a much different social class. Héloïse insisted she would never have children and that was the one thing that her mother didn’t enjoy, but her mother doubted Héloïse’s words, anyway, each time she said them.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence of the room slowly became unbearable. The wine bottles sat empty, Marianne’s plate followed suit, while Héloïse’s stayed mostly full. Her mother was the one to break the silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” she said, clearing her throat. “It’s time for me to head upstairs. I’ll leave you two to it. It was wonderful to see you, Marianne. Thank you for coming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Marianne smiled, polite and tight. “Thank you for having me, it was a great meal. I hope Milan treats you well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, her mother smiled gently to Marianne, a smile of a concerned mother, and when she looked to Héloïse there was a warning mixed into that worry. But Héloïse was far too tired to care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mother left the room, picking up dirty dishes as she went, denying Marianne’s offer to help, and heading towards the kitchen. Héloïse just watched Marianne as the brunette looked off into nothing. Eventually, once Héloïse could hear her mother leave towards her bedroom, Héloïse stood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come,” she said, reaching her hand towards Marianne. The brunette sighed and took it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse led her through the hallway and up the stairs, past her mother’s room and down towards her own. When the two women entered the room, Héloïse dropped Marianne’s hand and sat on the edge of her bed. Marianne stood and looked around the blonde’s room, noticing the boxes that were half filled, the ones that were taped shut, and the things that remained on the shelves. Eventually, her eyes turned back to Héloïse and the women stared at one another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a standoff, of sorts. Neither wanting to admit their wrongs, nor wanting to risk making the first move out of fear that it could be the wrong one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Marianne soon sat down next to Héloïse, and it didn’t take long for her to shift further onto the bed and to lay down. She held her right arm slightly up, as if to show that there was a nook to crawl into.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come,” Marianne whispered, repeating the word that Héloïse said to her earlier. A word that had become a peace offering amongst the two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Héloïse sighed and obliged. She shifted to lay down and rest her head onto Marianne’s chest, listening to the woman’s heartbeat. Her right leg crossed atop Marianne’s hips and her arm crossed her torso. Marianne’s arm now wrapped around Héloïse’s back and her hand rested on her hip. Héloïse felt small and delicate and fragile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They laid like that for a few minutes. Héloïse listened to Marianne’s heartbeat, and was lulled by the rise and fall of her chest. It was like they both were taking the time to let go of any anger and resentment that had bubbled up during dinner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Marianne whispered into Héloïse’s hair as she placed a kiss on the top of her head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse didn’t respond at first, she just waited to see if Marianne would say more, partially because she didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t going to lie to Marianne and she definitely hadn’t forgiven her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like being mad at you.” Héloïse said quietly, after a minute had passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wanted a nice night, before I left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another kiss was placed against her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stayed like that for a while. Marianne moved her hand from Héloïse’s hip to her hair and she laced her fingers through the blonde locks. Héloïse counted the beats of Marianne’s heart and tried to memorize the rhythm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The emotion in Héloïse’s room was far different from that in the dining room. There was no longer anger and resentment, there wasn’t stress and angst. It was just melancholy. Filled with regret. It was grief and it was mourning. It was a fear for what was to come, what was to be lost, and the knowledge that whatever they had together would be thoroughly tainted and maybe even destroyed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The more Héloïse thought about it, she could start to feel the tears burn in her eyes. She could feel them build up, how they sat upon the brim and edged so close to falling over. She refused to cry. Not right now. Not while she still had Marianne holding her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So instead, she shifted. Moved so that she was fully on top of Marianne, straddling her lap, and she kissed her. She kissed her slow and lovingly, she kissed her like she waited years to do so. Her hands were on either side of Marianne’s head and the brunette’s hands moved to rest on the small of Héloïse’s back, sneaking underneath her blouse as they went. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take long for Héloïse to trace her tongue over Marianne’s bottom lip, asking for more, asking for their kiss to be deeper, more passionate, more intimate. Barely a second could pass before their tongues were touching, and Héloïse could feel herself moan into Marianne’s mouth. The brunette tasted like the dessert she had eaten, sweet custard and tart strawberries. What was so unappetizing to her before was now so delicious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse could feel Marianne’s fingers move further up her back, like snakes travelling through a plain of grass, slow moving but with intent, gentle and soft, slithering up towards her neck. Her nails were like their fangs, always there and always threatening to dig into Héloïse’s back, but they never did. They came to rest upon her shoulder blades, and then she was pulled down with a sudden and unexpected force, so that their bodies were pressed together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse smiled at Marianne’s neediness, the woman’s desire to bring their bodies closer, because she felt the same way. Eight hundred kilometres were soon to separate them, but for now a single centimetre was too much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne’s love was physical, the blonde had learned that very early on, in her time with Marianne. The brunette was horrendous at words and emotions, but the way that she touched Héloïse always meant something deeper than just a touch. Her fingers painted love across Héloïse’s skin and her lips whispered proposals of dedication and adoration. Everything that Marianne was too scared to verbalize was shown through her touches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse spoke love stories to Marianne, could write novels about her feelings, could vocalize her love for centuries, if she was allowed to. She would read stories of love, late into the night, to Marianne. Stories that were propositions, stories that Héloïse offered to Marianne. To give Marianne the chance to say “yes, that will be our love,” or to deny it. Words flowed from the blonde like flowers floating down a river.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They expressed their love in such different ways— understood it in such different ways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were fire and ice, and each time Marianne began to melt, she started to extinguish Héloïse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse pulled her lips away from Marianne’s, earning a small whimper from the other woman, which only made Héloïse giggle. The blonde pushed her body up and felt Marianne’s fingers slide down her back as she did so. Once she was upright, again, still straddling Marianne’s lap, she began to pull her blouse up and over her head, tossing it to the ground. She watched Marianne’s eyes travel down her neck, across her collar bones, and down to her breasts. Héloïse wished that it was Marianne’s lips making that journey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She leaned forward, again, and pressed her lips against Marianne’s. Hot, open-mouthed, and messy. It was a kiss that was much like the oncoming summer season. Getting harsher by the second, unrelenting, and engulfing. It was full of excitement and heat and passion, it consisted of letting go of the past and welcoming whatever was to come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne’s fingers rushed to remove Héloïse’s bra, not wanting the blonde’s breasts to be hidden from her in any way. Relief washed over Héloïse when the brunette unclasped her bra and pulled it off the blonde’s shoulders with such a gentle touch that it sent a shiver down her spine. Their lips only separated for a moment, so that Marianne could fully remove Héloïse’s bra, tossing it to the floor and taking a few seconds to view the blonde’s breasts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their lips soon reunited, Héloïse not enjoying the distance and her body becoming cold without Marianne’s warmth pressed against her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take long for Marianne to grow tired of their current situation, though, she was always extremely impatient and now wasn’t any different. In a swift movement, she flipped Héloïse to be underneath her, which made the blonde let out a small yelp. As she did so, her eyes widened and she gave Marianne a threatening look, knowing that they risked her mother hearing them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made her think of the classic cinematic teenage experience that she never had, sneaking over significant-others to kiss in the basement and see if things would go farther, having to be quiet so that parents don’t realize what is going on. It felt strange, to be in the same position, being a full grown woman, but Héloïse would be damned before she let her mother hear her moan at Marianne’s touches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Marianne loved to tease Héloïse and in that moment the blonde became hyper-aware of the fact that Marianne was going to try to make her be loud, that she wouldn’t assist her in trying to stay quiet— something she already struggled with. Marianne was going to attempt to ruin her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With Héloïse now on her back, Marianne took the chance to pull away and remove her own shirt, undoing the buttons and then pulling it down her arms and tossing it towards the spot on the floor that was home to Héloïse’s blouse. It was as if it was an unspoken agreement that that was now the designated pile for their clothes. Marianne went to remove her bra, as well, but Héloïse stopped her, grabbing at her waist and pulling her down, causing the brunette woman to tumble on top of her. Luckily, Marianne’s arms shifted from behind her back and caught herself as she fell towards Héloïse, or both women might have ended up with bloody noses. It made Marianne laugh and pressed a firm kiss to Héloïse’s cheek, and Héloïse just shook her head as she giggled. The blonde’s fingers laced up into Marianne’s hair, as Marianne placed kisses on her cheek, slowly beginning to shift downwards, towards her jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse felt giddy, with Marianne’s lips on her jaw and hand traveling up her stomach. She felt young and free and in that moment she forgot that she was going to be leaving this behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brunette gently sucked at the skin on Héloïse’s jaw and in response, Héloïse tilted her head to the right, to give more access to her skin, to let Marianne take advantage of all the space along the expanse of her neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse’s hands left the brunette’s soft hair and traveled downwards. Once her fingers reached the back of Marianne’s bra, she was quick to undo the clasps. She didn’t immediately move to pull the bra off of Marianne, though, instead she moved one hand lower, down to her waist, and the other snaked its way back into Marianne’s hair. She let Marianne continue to kiss away at her neck, eliciting the occasional, tiny moan. She let Marianne take control of their pace, let her decide when to speed things up or slow them down; Héloïse wanted Marianne to show her whatever feeling she was experiencing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love this,” Héloïse whispered, not sure if she was speaking to herself or to Marianne. “I don’t want to lose this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whether Marianne was listening to her or not, she detached herself from the blonde’s neck and pressed their lips together, once again. Sweet and tender and slow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything moved slowly. It was like they existed in their own timeline, at their own speed, and every second that passed was actually a million. Every touch was basked in, every kiss was remembered. Hands were warm and soft, touching every open expanse of skin that was available. The women were slowly getting lost in one another and neither wanted to be found. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne awkwardly removed her own bra while not separating herself from Héloïse, which caused it to be a slow and fumbly process, but neither woman complained, both extremely content to have their lips locked. Onto the floor it went, and then Marianne was pressed back against Héloïse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their breasts touched which caused Héloïse to gasp at the sudden feeling, appreciating any form of pressure. It was like Marianne could read her mind, though, because the photographer slid her right hand between their bodies and cupped Héloïse’s right breast, running her thumb across her soft nipple that quickly became hard. Héloïse moaned at the touch, her hips pressing upwards, her body craving more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She craved Marianne’s touch like it was water in the desert. She missed it deeply, those few nights she hadn’t seen the woman. She desired her flesh to be close, wanting their bodies entwined. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those nights that she was alone, that her mind wandered to Marianne’s skin and remembered all their times together, and her hand traveled down into her shorts, were nothing like the real thing. Nothing like actually having Marianne touch her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brunette soon palmed the blonde’s breast, letting her moan into her mouth, and pressing their hips together as she did so. Héloïse couldn’t decide if she was being blessed or tortured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne continued to massage Héloïse’s breast as she went back to kissing the girl’s jaw. Soft, kisses trailed her jawline and down to her neck. Right as Marianne reached her neck, she sucked on Héloïse’s skin, gently, causing another moan to be drawn from the blonde. Her skin was delicate and silky, it was almost porcelain, had it not been for the flush that was beginning to cover Héloïse’s face and neck, even trailing down her chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Marianne would move from certain spots of Héloïse’s neck, she would drag her teeth along the skin she was sucking, and every time it would elicit a gasp from Héloïse. The blonde’s eyes were squeezed shut, she didn’t want to stare at her ceiling or notice any other part of her room; she wanted to imagine that it was just her and Marianne in an entirely different realm of reality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse let her nails drag along Marianne’s back, encouraging her to keep going. At those times where Marianne caused an intense rush through Héloïse’s body, straight down to her core, she would dig those nails into her back, scratch her harder, all pleading for more, all telling Marianne to keep going.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marianne,” she whispered, as the woman made her way down her chest and closer to her breasts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brunette had moved her hand from Héloïse’s breast, now, switching the way that she was holding up her weight so that her right arm was now holding her up and her left hand pressed into the blonde’s left breast. She massaged it with the same slow speed and gentle touch as she had when massaging her right breast. Marianne had stopped kissing her skin, which made Héloïse want to whimper and whine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was only a moment before Marianne’s hot mouth was drawing the blonde’s nipple in, swirling her tongue over it and sucking. Héloïse could only moan, as her body seemed to become fully awakened at the feeling. The warmth of her core began to grow and she could feel how wet she was becoming, how uncomfortable it was to still have her pants on, how desperately she wanted Marianne to pull them off of her and touch her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you.” She groaned, louder than anything she had said previously but still trying to keep her voice hushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could feel Marianne smile against her skin, and she looked down to watch the brunette release her nipple from her mouth and look up to Héloïse, a toothy grin on her face. Her eyes told Héloïse that that’s all she wanted, as well. Her desire ran deep and Héloïse was thankful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me what you want,” the brunette whispered to her, which caused another rush through her body. Marianne moved back to kissing Héloïse’s chest, sucking at the soft skin on her breast, but now ignoring her nipple, causing the blonde to become antsy and desperate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want…” She started, but trailed off as she got distracted by Marianne’s touches. Marianne made it clear, however, that Héloïse was going to have to answer her question, if she wanted any pleasure at all, because when Héloïse didn’t try to start her statement again, Marianne stopped what she was doing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse whimpered, disappointed at the sudden lack of sensations, and let out a puff of air. “I want to be naked,” she whispered. “I want to be yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne switched her position, again, and sucked upon the woman’s other breast, causing her to moan, again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish we were at your place. I want you to make me scream.” She moaned out. She soon moved her hands to the sides of Marianne’s face, though, as if to tell her to look at her. And once the woman did, Héloïse pulled her upwards and kissed her lips. She then whispered against them: “I want you. I want your fingers inside me, so badly.” And she kissed her again. “I want you to fuck me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Marianne kissed her hard and deep, like it was a promise. Her one hand went and untied Héloïse’s hair, letting it frame her face, and then it went back to touching the blonde’s breast. The other hand held her up, prevented her from putting her whole weight on Héloïse, and the blonde hated it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse’s fingers found their way to Marianne’s belt, undoing the buckle and pulling it through the loops of her slacks. She tossed it to the floor unceremoniously, and it made a loud enough thud that both women froze. Héloïse looked mortified, like she was waiting for her bedroom door to swing open and Marianne held that same stress, but with a mild hint of amusement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne was the first to break. It started as a small huff of laughter and grew, until Héloïse couldn’t help but join. They tried to stay hushed, but continued to laugh, until Héloïse moved her hands back to Marianne’s face and pulled her forward for a kiss, where they laughed into each other's lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne collapsed on top of her and they smiled against each other’s lips for a few minutes, placed gentle pecks, until Marianne rolled off of Héloïse. The blonde instantly missed Marianne’s warmth and peered at her. Marianne’s smile was still large and beautiful and it made Héloïse’s heart feel full. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne’s hand slid across Héloïse’s stomach, as she propped herself up on her other elbow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish we had forever,” Héloïse whispered. Marianne nodded in agreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enjoy what we have right now.” She said in response, as her hand went to undo the buckle of Héloïse’s belt, pulling it off and laying it to the ground, much more gently than Héloïse had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once her belt was removed, Marianne undid the button and zipper, and then she got off the bed, and moved to stand at the end of it. She undid her own button and zipper and shimmied out of her pants and her underwear, all in one go, leaving them where she stood. She took hold of Héloïse’s pants, by the ankles, and pulled them down her legs in a quick movement that made Héloïse roar with laughter. Underneath, a pair of navy blue panties that were already wet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne laughed along with Héloïse as she climbed back on the bed, as Héloïse spread her legs for the brunette to lay between them. She moved slowly, placed kisses up her legs, on her thighs. She pressed a kiss right against the wet spot on Héloïse’s panties, making the woman gasp. She shifted her body from between Héloïse’s legs, for a moment, and pulled the woman’s underwear down her legs and tossed them to the floor, in the direction of all the other clothes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne returned to her spot between Héloïse’s legs, and she kissed the inside of Héloïse’s thigh. She kissed her entrance, that was slick with want and on display, and she kissed her clit. Every kiss caused a moan from Héloïse. The blonde was already light headed, she wanted Marianne so desperately to give her what she needed, to slide her fingers inside of her, to suck on her clit, and to make her come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Marianne ran her tongue through Héloïse’s folds and it made the blonde want to cry. The pleasure was immense and intense and Héloïse didn’t know if she could handle it. She whimpered and her hand rocketed to Marianne’s head. It seemed like the brunette could sense how overstimulated the woman had suddenly become, though, as she didn’t push further. She moved her head back and placed a soft kiss to the inside of Héloïse’s thigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She moved herself away from Héloïse’s core and up to her neck where she gently kissed away. She shifted so that she now had one leg between Héloïse’s and was more or less straddling the woman’s thigh. Marianne kissed her lips, the kiss moving slowly. Their tongues soon danced together, Héloïse could taste herself on Marianne’s lips, and Héloïse’s fingers went back to scratching away at Marianne’s back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne’s right hand traveled between their bodies and came to a stop at Héloïse’s stomach. She left her hand there, as if waiting for Héloïse to tell her that she was ready to continue, to tell her that she wanted more. And when their lips parted for a moment, Héloïse nodded her head quickly and murmured a plea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne’s hand moved lower, through tufts of dark blonde curls, and she slowly touched Héloïse’s clit. She rubbed a soft, tight circle and watched as the woman separated their lips and leaned her head back, in pleasure, her mouth slightly agape. Marianne took it as an opportunity to continue to kiss and suck away at Héloïse’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Marianne’s circles sped up, so did Héloïse’s breathing. And soon, Marianne stopped touching the blonde’s clit, much to her disappointment, and ran two fingers through her folds, only now realizing just how wet Héloïse was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was dripping, really. Héloïse was sure that there was a large, dark spot on her sheets. She could feel it from earlier, when she had already soaked her panties, and that was before she was even really touched by Marianne.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse focused on muffling her own moans, she begged for Marianne’s lips to return to hers so that she could muffle her moans into the other woman’s mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Marianne kissed her, right before she plunged two fingers into the woman. Héloïse’s nails immediately dug into Marianne’s back, hard and rough and sudden, grasping on like she was about to fall from a height. She moaned into the brunette’s mouth, trying to keep herself as hushed as possible, but struggling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The photographer’s fingers moved in and out of her at a slow and even pace, they curled inside of her, and caused the blonde to moan, endlessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne softly rubbed her clit with her thumb, for a while, which only made Héloïse grow more impatient and needy and wet, until she was basically dripping down Marianne’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, when Marianne finally decided to give in and to give Héloïse what she wanted, she stopped rubbing patterns against her clit and added a third finger. It made Héloïse yelp, the sudden surprise of being filled even more, and Marianne continued to move in and out of her at a slow pace. That didn’t last long, however, and Marianne picked up her speed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pleas and moans and profanities and Marianne’s name spilled from Héloïse’s lips as Marianne fingered her faster, as it got rougher. All she could think about was Marianne, everything else had left her mind. Nothing but pleasure and her lover existed, anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only a few minutes before Héloïse was tightening around Marianne’s fingers, scratching Marianne’s back so intensely that it might have drawn blood, and letting out her loudest moan yet— which she was almost certain her mother would be able to hear, but she didn’t care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne slowed her speed, but never pulled her fingers out. She let Héloïse fully come down, waited until the blonde finally opened her eyes again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse’s classic post-sex smile graced her lips, soft and small and hazy. She was fluttery and only knew bliss, in that moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne pulled her fingers out of Héloïse, causing a small gasp to escape the woman, and she turned to lay on her back, beside Héloïse. The blonde was quick to curl into her, to throw her leg across Marianne’s hips, like she had earlier, and rest her head in the nook of her shoulder. Her face was flushed and her eyes were the lightest shade of blue they had ever been. Marianne’s hand moved to rub the blonde’s back, and when the blonde looked up at her, Marianne smugly smiled and took turns sucking each of the fingers that had been inside of Héloïse, making the blonde blush and giggle at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” Héloïse whispered into the brunette’s neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne’s hand travelled up her back and into Héloïse’s hair, delicately scratching at the blonde’s scalp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish you weren’t leaving.” Marianne told her. And it was the first time that Marianne had really said anything about her feelings about Héloïse leaving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could live with me.” Marianne offered, though she didn’t look at Héloïse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s too late for that.” Héloïse said quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t. You could stay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Marianne.” And the sadness in her voice told Marianne to stop pushing it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They laid in silence for a while. Both pondering their own thoughts, wondering when this night would have to come to an end. Wondering when Marianne would have to leave, if she would stay and awkwardly leave in the morning. Wondering if this was going to be the last time they saw one another before Héloïse left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne had a crease in her brow, as if she was trying to solve something more complicated than anything that anyone has solved before. Héloïse didn’t ask any questions, she let Marianne ponder whatever it was, let her sit in her thoughts and resolve them in whatever way was needed. If Héloïse’s help was wanted, it would be requested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, so much.” Marianne eventually whispered. “It kills me. I don’t know how to handle it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse didn’t know if she should look to Marianne or not. She didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to handle it. All she knew was that she was overwhelmed and instantly regretted that she decided to move to Milan. While her heart grew, it also broke. It beat rapidly, knowing that, now, boarding that flight on Friday was going to hurt like hell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t love people,” Marianne mumbled. “I just don’t, I never have. Just my dad.” Héloïse could hear a lump in her throat, as if she was going to cry. The blonde wanted to hear what she had to say, though, so she stayed silent and let Marianne release whatever emotions she had been holding in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And then you came along. And you stuck around, even when I thought you’d walk out and now I can’t stand thinking about you being gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse just placed a small kiss on the woman’s collarbone, a kiss to tell her that she was listening, that she was still there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you, Héloïse. I really do.” Marianne whispered into the blonde’s hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse shifted, she moved so that she was straddling Marianne’s hips and she watched her face. Watched how Marianne turned her head and shut her eyes, not wanting Héloïse to see the tears that were building up. She watched the crease in her brow return, frustration returning, likely caused by her overwhelming emotions. Héloïse took Marianne’s cheek in one hand and slowly tilted her head back up, and then she leaned forward and kissed the woman. The kiss was devout, it was fervent, it was heartrending. It was everything she was feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They just kissed for a while. It never got deeper, just tender kisses. And when Héloïse could feel Marianne’s tears running down the side of her face, she didn’t comment on it. When Héloïse’s tears dripped onto Marianne’s cheeks, the brunette said nothing, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Visit me in Milan,” Héloïse whispered against Marianne’s lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That seemed to be the tipping point, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne didn’t respond. She just shifted so that Héloïse was forced to awkwardly fumble backwards, and sit on her heels, and then Marianne lifted herself up onto her elbows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t, Héloïse.” Her frustration was taking over her voice, she was clearly overwhelmed by the whirlwind of different emotions that she was cycling through, and she wasn’t impressed by Héloïse’s simple solutions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” She asked, desperately. She needed a promise of a visit or an answer for why she wouldn’t be visited. She couldn’t stand to have neither.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne shifted again, this time moving her hip up in a way that knocked Héloïse off her balance, forcing the girl to get off of her. Once Héloïse was off her lap, she shuffled back in the bed and rubbed her forehead, while shaking her head, slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Marianne.” Héloïse begged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the brunette wasn’t listening. She had moved now, and was soon standing at the side of the bed. Héloïse just watched her at first, watched the woman begin to collect her clothes. Watched her pull on her panties and her slacks, before searching for her belt, which Héloïse had tossed to the other side of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde then stood, she went to her drawers and pulled out a pair of clean panties and a large t-shirt, and pulled on the two while Marianne was pulling her own clothes on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t keep shutting down like this.” Héloïse said, after she had pulled her clothes on and while Marianne was finishing buckling her belt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not shutting down.” The photographer said in a huff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then stop.” Héloïse told her. “Stay and talk to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You never wanted to talk about it and now I’m leaving in three days and you still won’t. You’re acting like a kid.” Héloïse accused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne just shook her head as she put on her bra and hooked the clasps together. She pulled her arms through the sleeves of her shirt, and started to leave the room as she buttoned it. Héloïse followed her out the room and they continued their argument through the hallway and down the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why is it so hard for you to say what you want?” Héloïse was yelling now, she was frustrated and tired and far past caring what she sounded like. However, what she said seemed to trigger something in Marianne, and the woman froze and turned on her heels, and stared at Héloïse. Only slightly more than half of the buttons on her shirt were done up, and not all of them were in the right holes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You,” Marianne yelled back. “You’re what I want. What isn’t making sense about that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why won’t you come visit? Why won’t you tell me if we’re still going to be together after I step on that flight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I want all of you! I don’t want some of you, I don’t want you some of the time. I want you completely and I want you always.” Marianne said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse didn’t know how to respond at first, and she stood there a little stunned for a moment. Marianne let out a huff and a small, self deprecating laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that what you wanted to hear? I can’t not have you with me, Héloïse.” She spoke slower, now. Tears burned in Marianne’s eyes, but they were falling down Héloïse’s cheeks. “I knew that loving you was going to ruin me. I knew that I should have never seen you, again, after that first night. I knew that you were going to break my heart.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marianne,” was all Héloïse could make out between her tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brunette blinked back her tears and took a deep breath before speaking, again, this time, quieter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t just have you some times. I can’t just do phone calls. I need you with me.” She told her. “It’ll be easier to have none of you than to only have some of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Marianne turned on her heel and made her way towards the front door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Héloïse didn’t rush after her, she just stood, ten or so feet away, and watched the brunette go. And when Marianne reached the door, she paused. She paused for long enough for Héloïse to speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Turn around,” she whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Marianne turned. She looked at Héloïse, standing there with tears rolling down her face, in an oversized t-shirt, hair disheveled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They watched each other for a moment, it could have been a second or an hour, and then Marianne turned and left, and let the door swing shut behind her.</span>
</p>
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